


Suffice it to Say

by boxparade



Series: Transformative [8]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7711156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxparade/pseuds/boxparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why are you reading books? Who said you could read books? You should stop. Go shoot something, or blow something up far away from here, or offer yourself to the spirits of the sea, just please, for the love of all that is sacred and holy on this godforsaken island, stop reading books.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suffice it to Say

**Author's Note:**

> I was reticent to post this one right after the last one, mostly because I wanted *actual sex* between that one and this one. But it's been a bit too long since I've paid attention to this series, so here we are with a brief timeskip instead.
> 
> I may or may not come back and slip something between the two, but we'll see. I've got a lot of written fics that take place way too far ahead, and I'm concentrating on bridging that significantly larger gap first.
> 
> Notes for the series as a whole:
> 
> Danny's experiences and opinions as a trans man are not indicative of all experiences/opinions of trans people. (Duh?)
> 
> If anything he says offends you, I would like to remind you that he is a fictional character, and that the opinions of the characters have no bearing on the opinions of the author, or on anything at all, since they are _fictional characters_.
> 
> In summation: Don't be a dick. :)
> 
> Unbeta'd, as always. Comments & CC are love.
> 
> .

It’s raining. It’s raining, and all the criminals on the island are tucked away in their hidey-holes until the rain passes, and Danny blames Hawaii for yet another unfortunate thing in his life.

This time, it’s that Steve is _bored._ It’s pouring rain, and he’s already done his whole SEALs-run-rain-or-shine-or-monsoon stint, and Danny has seen Steve open and close the fridge four times, walk up and down the stairs six times, and picked up and put down picture frames a total of ten times.

Danny has been trying to peacefully enjoy a rerun of a Bond movie. He has not moved from his spot on the couch in _an hour._ He is one second away from kicking Steve out of his own house when he finally, out of the blue, takes a seat across the room and starts quietly reading.

Danny lets out a breath he’d been holding, and then focuses on getting his entire body to melt into Steve’s couch while Bond blows shit up and the rain pounds down.

Danny doesn’t realize the peril he’s in until nearly two hours have passed, and Steve is still sitting and reading quietly. The second Bond movie goes to commercial, and Danny turns down the TV enough so that he can look over to where Steve is sitting quietly and reading.

“Babe,” Danny prompts, trying to sound completely innocuous.

Steve hums in response.

“What are you reading?”

There’s an unnatural pause that lasts just a bit too long, Danny craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Steve. He slowly puts a bookmark in his book, shuts it, and sets it atop a pile of books that Danny really should’ve looked at when he had the chance.

“Hey Danno,” Steve says, and dread starts to bubble up in the pit of his gut, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Conversations that start like that never bode well for me, okay? So I don’t want to hear—”

Steve plows on like he’s not listening, because he probably isn’t. “I’ve been reading this book and—”

“Oh no. No,” Danny says, in a panic, movie completely forgotten as he shifts his entire body to face Steve. “Why are you reading books? Who said you could read books? You should stop. Go shoot something, or blow something up far away from here, or offer yourself to the spirits of the sea, just please, for the love of all that is sacred and holy on this godforsaken island, stop reading books.”

“No, Danny, listen, okay?” Steve says. It’s like he can’t even sense the impending disaster. He’s just strolling on into it without a care in the world. He’s insane. “This book says that we should be engaging in active-participant conversations about consensual and comfortable terminol—”

Danny snaps. “Oh my God go puke up that dictionary. Please. You’re turning into Rachel and I’m concerned for your well-being and also the likelihood of you filing for divorce engaging me in a perpetual custody battle and galavanting off to a different but I’m sure just as awful tropical hellscape.”

Steve huffs out an aggravated sigh. “I’m not trying to—to _galavant_ , I just.” Steve crosses his arms and juts out his chin. It’s his ‘I _will_ throw the perp off the roof if it gets me results’ face. Danny hates that face. “I think we should talk about things.”

“What kind of things,” Danny says flatly. It’s not even a question, it’s just prompting so he can get the impact of the fall out of the way sooner.

“You know,” Steve hedges, shifting his eyes away and losing some of that confidence. “Words. Names of certain...things. And parts.”

Danny sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. He knew that was coming. He definitely knew something like that was coming. “Do you not understand how painful this is going to be?”

A small amount of Steve’s bravado returns to the line of his shoulders. Probably because Danny isn’t immediately refusing. Which is probably a mistake, on his part, but the Rachel in him (which he still can’t fully scrub out) is saying that this is actually a conversation that needs to take place. Preferably before they fuck and wind up in an extremely awkward situation.

Steve is nodding as if to reassure himself. “I can do it. I want to make sure I’m doing it right, okay? I don’t—I’m not gonna fuck this up, Danny.” There’s a threatening line creasing between his eyebrows.

“Okay please stop looking at me like I’m your mission,” Danny says flatly.

“Your pleasure and satisfaction is my mission.”

Danny snorts. “Now you sound like a phone sex operator.”

Steve has now misplaced his sense of humor, and instead sets his jaw and stares Danny down.

Danny puts his hands up, trying to placate. “Okay, okay, don’t get your cargo pants in a twist, alright? What do you wanna ask?”

It should say something that Steve doesn’t even have to take a breath before blurting out his question.

“What do you want me to call your vagina?”

There is an extremely pregnant pause. Like a sextuplet pause. In which Danny stares at Steve, who has his features set in stone and is refusing to waver or look uncomfortable or even twitch.

“Wow, you’ve come a long way from your ‘love cave’ stage, huh?”

Color floods Steve’s face. “I never had a love cave stage! Danny!” Danny smirks triumphantly.

“I’m just saying. You want to talk about my vagina?”

Steve nods. “And what you want me to call it.”

Danny squints, mostly in skepticism but a little because he’s trying to pick up on Steve’s finer facial features from across the room. He speaks slowly. “Uhh. What’s wrong with ‘Danny’s vagina’? I can’t imagine we’re going to be talking about it that often.” Doing other things with it, sure. But talking about it? Not really ranking on his list of possible pillowtalk subjects.

Steve blushes. Or something. His facial area turns bright pink, so it’s either that or he’s suffocating to death.

“I meant,” Steve jolts to a stop, but then steels himself. “During sexytimes.”

 _”Sexytim—”_ Danny cuts himself off. “Okay, you know what? I’m leaving that one be. I am letting it go for the sake of moving on. Why do you want to know what to call my vagina during sex?”

Steve lifts a shoulder casually. “So that I don’t offend you.”

Danny has to blink just to clear his thoughts, because Steve—Navy SEAL Steve, grenades-first-ask-questions-later Steve, Steve who blatantly asked if he used to have tits—is worried about _offending_ him. It’s almost—no, it’s definitely cute. Adorable, even. Ridiculous.

“Right,” Danny says, “Okay. How about we go with ‘you are not going to offend me’ and work with that, huh?”

Steve doesn’t look sold on the idea. “Danny...”

“Steve,” Danny replies.

Steve is going to make him explain. Because of course he is. “So...”

“So you can call it what you want. I don’t care so long as you’re not using ‘love cave’.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Which is an improvement in the atmosphere, at least.

“Look, I don’t know what those books have been telling you, and frankly I don’t want to know because so far, very little of what Rachel made me read has ever applied to my life. But I’m pretty okay with all my mismatched parts, alright? I’m not crying into my oatmeal because I don’t have a dick–”

“Danny!” Steve says, so outraged and offended that Danny’s forgetting which one of them here is actually trans.

“Whoa, alright, babe, calm down,” Danny says, hands up, placating. “I’m not making fun of people who are. I get it, it sucks, bodies suck, we’re an imperfect species on an imperfect planet, et cetera.”

Steve seems moderately mollified, even if he still looks like he might tie Danny to a chair and read him the riot act. The irony would be _hilarious_ if Danny weren’t so intimately familiar with Steve’s history of tying people to chairs (or the hood of his Camaro) and ‘interrogating’ them.

“I’m just saying that I’m on pretty good terms with my body right now. Not my knee—my knee is still on probation, pending early release for good behavior—but the rest of me? It’s good. I’ve been good for a long time. Since Grace came into the world, if you want specifics—which of course you do, damn Naval Intelligence.”

Steve narrows his eyes at Danny, like he’s wondering how much Danny knows about Naval Intelligence. Which, besides the fact that Steve was involved and the massive amounts of water, isn’t much.

“So you can call it whatever you want. And call whatever else whatever you want. And if I don’t like it, I’ll tell you. And probably smack you. For your own good. Capiche?”

Steve is snickering.

“What?”

Steve coughs once and says, in a low voice, “You can take the man out of Jersey, but you can’t take the Jersey—”

“Don’t test me, McGarrett. I’ve got family in the mafia. I’m sure they’ve got someone who can take you out.”

Steve snorts.

“Multiple someones that can take you out. You are not Superman.”

“Sure, Danno,” Steve says lightly. He doesn’t believe a word Danny just said. But his eyes are warm as they watch Danny and crinkled at the corners. He says “Sure,” again, and Danny just _knows_ this next week is going to have Steve attempting to prove that he _is_ Superman. Just to spite him.

If he jumps off any more buildings, Danny is going to buy him a cape and shove it down his throat.


End file.
